


The Boyfriend Experience

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Arguing, Dating, Dessert & Sweets, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Explicit hand-holding, Jealousy, M/M, Memes, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Romance, Science Boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7117549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Shatterdome, Hermann confesses his disappointment that his and Newt's relationship lacks romance. After the war is over, Newt vows to spend one year righting this wrong as they travel the world together on a lecture tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boyfriend Experience

There was a bent paperclip on the desk that was digging into Newt’s face. He wanted to brush it aside, but he did not have the wherewithal at the moment, because every few seconds he was rendered helpless by the way Hermann’s cock was pounding his prostate. Unable to shift himself or control his limbs, he could in fact do little else but groan and curse, bent over the desk with his trousers around his ankles. Leaning over Newt and keeping most of his weight on his arms, Hermann was able to thrust with sufficient speed and intensity to gradually turn Newt into a babbling mess, though Hermann would have remarked that this was not such a long journey for him.

Newt begged him to go harder, not because he actually needed it any harder, but because he loved hearing Hermann’s filthy grunts of efforts as he worked to satisfy him. Finding himself shoved too far forward on the desk, Newt panted, “Can you reach my dick? I can’t reach it. Jerk me off so I can—”

Both men were startled by the booming voice of the Marshal, echoing off the walls as he strode through the enormous open doorway. “Doctor Geiszler! Doctor Gottlieb!” he shouted, entering the lab and spotting them immediately. There was no hiding what they were doing, no obstacle to block Pentecost’s view of a disheveled Hermann clearly plowing a half-undressed Newt from behind. Both men were frozen in fear under his impassive glare, knowing there was no way they could pretend this was anything other than what it was.

Finally, Newt tried to reassure the Marshal about the situation: “It’s okay!” he squawked, in a panic. “We’re in love!”

Pentecost’s expression remained stony and disapproving. Finally, he turned and exited, just as resolutely as he had walked in, calling out, “Gentlemen, I’ll be back in ten minutes to talk to you about the Mark-Fours, so wrap it up.”

Newt and Hermann listened as the Marshal’s footsteps got quieter, until they were in silence again. Newt suggested, “That’s plenty of time to finish,” but Hermann was already pulling out of him and doing up his trousers with a mortified sigh.

 

***

 

They had long ago agreed that a door open half-an-inch meant “I’m into it tonight if you’re into it,” but a closed door meant “Leave me alone,” and there was no argument about the latter. That evening, however, Newt ignored the closed door to Hermann’s quarters, banging on it as he shouted, “Come on, man, open up! We should probably talk about what happened or something!”

Eventually, Hermann turned the latch and opened the door. “We have rules, and you’re breaking one.”

“Okay, but I’m making an exception due to special circumstances,” Newt said awkwardly. “You’ve been stewing about this all day, and that’s never good, when you do that.”

Hermann turned around and walked away from the door, leaving it open, resigned to Newt’s coming in to his room but unwilling to do anything to facilitate it. Newt pushed the door open and sat next to Hermann on his bed.

“I know,” Newt said. “You told me we’d get caught one day, and we got caught. I’m sorry.”

“It’s as much my fault as it was yours,” Hermann grumbled. “I could have put a stop to the…proceedings, but I chose not to.”

“You got swept up in the moment, dude. That’s very flattering. You just couldn’t resist my charms. Frankly, I don’t blame you. I’m amazing.”

“You are,” Hermann admitted, under his breath, which gave Newt a start. “I only wish, if what happened _had_ to happen, that it would have happened in front of anyone else except the Marshal.”

“To be fair, he totally knew about us. Everyone does.”

“That’s one thing.” Hermann set aside his cane, clamped his hands between his knees, and stared at the floor. “It’s another thing to be caught at it.”

“Psh, you think that’s the first time that guy’s caught his subordinates doing the nasty?”

“Please don’t call it that.”

“Sorry,” Newt rolled his eyes, “ _Making love_ , is totally what I meant. The point is, no one cares. Pentecost is too professional to let what happened get in the way of all of us doing our jobs.”

“ _We_ let us get in the way of doing our jobs!”

“Is that what you’re upset about? That he caught us on the clock? If he didn’t want that to happen, he should give us a couple hours off once or twice a year!”

Hermann looked blankly into the middle distance. “Yes.”

Newt immediately sensed the change in Hermann’s mood, from humiliated to melancholy. “Hey, what’s the matter now?”

Hermann wouldn’t look at Newt. “Did you mean what you said to the Marshal?”

“Mean what? Oh! That we’re in love?” Newt _had_ meant it. But he might not have known it until that moment. It just came out; Newt could never have made up something like that. But now, he wasn’t sure if that was what Hermann wanted to hear.

He rolled the dice, straightened up and said decidedly, “Yeah, I meant it.”

It looked like that might have been the wrong answer after all. Hermann’s shoulders slumped. He looked despondent. Newt’s stomach flipped. “Oh my God, do you not love me? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you in a position where—”

Hermann snapped, “Of course I love you, you twit!” He heaved a great sigh and tapped his cane on the ground. “That’s what makes this so depressing. Until now, I could fool myself into thinking this was all just some arrangement we had, a makeshift coping strategy.”

“You mean like, we would just bang to blow off steam when things got too tense around here.”

“Yes, that. It all felt very sordid, but that’s the nature of these things, so I accepted it. But deep down, I didn’t like it. I wished we could be in a…a real…relationship. And now that I know you also had these feelings, it seems wrong, the way we’ve gone about it all.”

Newt nodded solemnly. “I get it. We shouldn’t be banging on a desk if we’re in love. We should do it in a bed, with candles and stuff.”

“I’m not saying we can’t ever do it on a desk,” Hermann huffed. “But all the time?”

“Hey, we did it in my bed a couple times!” Newt protested. But thinking back on those times, he had to concede, “I guess the ceiling was leaking and there were rust stains on the walls, though, so…yeah, not ideal, huh.”

“It’s not worthy of what we have.”

“Wow, man, I had no idea you felt this way. But you’re right, we haven’t even been on, like, a date. If you’re gonna get caught pounding my ass, I could have at least bought you dinner first, right?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Hermann grimaced. “You and I, reduced to furtively copulating wherever we can find the opportunity, like animals. It’s a travesty.”

Newt frowned in agreement at the sad truth of this. He wanted to have a solution right at hand, but he didn’t, and that frustrated him. But he was incandescent with the need to reassure Hermann. “Look,” he said, his mouth working faster than his brain, “things won’t be like this forever. One day the war will be over, and then…?” He tried to think of precisely what would be happening then, but the war had consumed most of his adult life, and so it was hard to picture any other existence. “Well, watch out, because, hoo boy, you’ll see how awesome life can be.” Hastily, to make it more romantic, he took Hermann’s hand in both of his own and added, “I promise.”

 

***

TWO YEARS LATER

 

Newt's original plan was, Six Glorious Months Off. The two of them would find a place together, and then not set up a phone or fill out a change of address form for six months. But as the offers poured in for speaking engagements from Honolulu to Moscow, and as Newt began to consider the opportunities this afforded, his thoughts on the subject evolved. He hired a manager, and laid out the situation for her. First: he and Hermann were a package deal. Even though they pursued different disciplines, any university, institute, or foundation who wanted one of them, got both of them or neither. Second: In every city they visited, they must have one day in that city with no engagements and no travel.

“With that kind of schedule,” his manager said, “if you accept all these offers, it'll take you a year.”

“Good,” said Newt.

Their first engagement was a symposium in Toronto. Newt and Hermann employed only their manager; they had no handlers, and so approached the reception desk at the hotel themselves.

Newt was vibrating with anticipation for what was about to happen, and could barely contain himself as he told the clerk, “Reservation under Geiszler.”

The clerk clicked around on his computer for a moment before nodding and replying, “Ah yes, the bridal suite.”

Hermann gave a bemused chuckle. “No, that's a mistake.”

The clerk shook his head. “Says here,” he said vaguely.

“We're here on business,” Hermann said, “we're not even married.”

“He's just being modest,” Newt butted in. “If he tells people he's married to me, it just sounds like bragging.”

The clerk handed them two key cards and directed them to the room. Someone came along to help them with their bags, but Newt refused, only because he had no idea how much you were supposed to tip them, and he didn't want to look awkward.

Upstairs, Hermann wandered around the suite, examining the sumptuous details. He said nothing for a while, but there were many indignant exhalations through his nose, at the Jacuzzi tub, at the two fireplaces, and at the California king bed.

“Well, this is just ridiculous,” he huffed. “I can’t even imagine how much it cost. A waste of money. Who needs all this.”

“No one needs this,” Newt replied, “that’s the point! Feel these sheets! They are like two-thousand-count sheets, and we are gonna get butt-naked and roll around in them. You know why? Because we spent years boning in a filthy tin can, and we deserve this now.”

Hermann seemed to be considering this. Newt put an arm around him and explained, “I remembered what you said in the Shatterdome, and I got it. You want to be romanced a little. You want the Boyfriend Experience. Well, I got it covered, man. Now that we’re free, you are going to be romanced within an inch of your _life_. Every hotel we stay in, we’re staying in a room like this.”

“What is 'the Boyfriend Experience?'” was Hermann's only response. “What does that mean?”

“Uh, it comes from...you know what, it doesn't matter. The point is, look at this hot tub.”

“Yes, I see it.”

“Some shenanigans are gonna be happening in that hot tub. Right? Right?”

Hermann thought about this; may even have been having some metal imagery, Newt couldn’t know for sure. But at last, he muttered, “Perhaps,” and Newt grinned.

 

***

 

“Have you ever been to one of these revolving restaurants before?” Newt asked, as they strolled across the lobby to the elevator.

“I haven't,” Hermann replied. “I don't think I've ever been to a city that had one.”

On the elevator up, a guide regaled the passengers with a few facts about the height and age of the landmark they were now ascending. Hermann looked out the windows; Newt looked at Hermann.

The interior of the restaurant at the top of the structure had retained its retro-futuristic charm. After they were seated, a waiter brought them menus, but Newt refused them. “We know what we want,” he said. “He'll have the mushroom risotto, and I'll have the lobster mac and cheese.”

“Very good,” the waiter said, and left.

“What did you do that for?” Hermann said. “I would have liked to look at a menu.”

“Hermann, there was mushroom risotto. Have you ever ordered anything else at any restaurant where you could get mushroom risotto?”

“I suppose not. Still, you're behaving very oddly.”

“On what day have I not behaved oddly?” Newt asked, trying to get off the subject of the elusive menus. The truth was, he did not want Hermann to look at a menu because he did not want him to have any inkling about the special dessert they served here. And in fact, throughout the meal, he glanced about nervously, afraid someone at another table would order it, and attract Hermann's attention with the commotion it would cause.

He lucked out; no one seemed to have ordered one, at least not within sight of their table. When the waiter came around after the entr _é_ e, Newt said, “Can we get a...” and then gestured for the waiter to lean closer, so he could whisper it.

“Of course,” the waiter replied. “To share? Excellent, I'll be right back with that.”

While they waited, the two of them continued admiring the slowly-changing view out the window. The sun had set while they had eaten their meal, and what they gazed upon now was little more than the glowing lights of the city skyline, only a few buildings well-lit enough to discern in the darkness. It was twinkling and lovely; even the lights from the far-off waterfront industrial area were pleasant to look upon.

“Here we go,” the waiter announced, pulling their attention from the window. He carried a plain ceramic plate, upon which sat a round glass bowl with a vented stainless steel lid; perched atop all this was a dainty glass dish. From the bowl, copious plumes of dry-ice smoke billowed. The first patrons who saw it as the waiter breezed past _ooh_ ed and _ahh_ ed, and soon everyone in sight was turning to see what the fuss was about.

The waiter held the dish, or dishes as it were, high aloft, then set the whole thing down in front of Newt and Hermann with a slow, vertical drop, as though it were making a powered descent to the table. Now, one could see that the little dish on top held two generous scoops of vanilla ice cream, smothered in syrup and garnished with sliced fruit.

“One Lunar Orbiter,” the waiter announced, “and two spoons.”

Newt squirmed with delight to see Hermann's face; he was entranced by the Lunar Orbiter...and why wouldn't he be? It was a spaceship... _and_ it was ice cream! Could Hermann ask for anything more? Pretty much not.

The waiter set down the check in its little leather case, which Newt snatched up before Hermann could think of it, stuffing some cash inside before returning his attention to his date. Hermann picked up his spoon, and Newt held out his hand, tapping the table next to the Lunar Orbiter. “Put your other hand out here,” he instructed.

Hermann obeyed, but asked, “What for?”

“So I can hold it, you nerd. This is a romantic date and stuff.” Newt placed his free hand atop Hermann's, and they looked into each other's eyes occasionally as they spooned their ice cream and squeezed each other's hands.

 

***

 

Hermann turned away from the booth when he saw the ticket prices. “It’s all so overpriced.”

“I literally could not care less about the price,” Newt said, like this ambivalence was the worst treatment Hermann had ever shown him. “Do you want to go or not?”

Hermann hummed with indecision.

“Okay, obviously you want to, because otherwise you’d just say you don’t. So brace yourself, ‘cause we’re getting on.” Newt grabbed Hermann by the arm and dragged him to the ticket booth. “Two tickets for the ferris wheel, please,” he said, and handed over his card.

The view of Santa Monica beach was hardly any more beautiful from 130 feet up; it just made the people look slightly farther away – which, to be fair, had its merits – but Newt didn’t care. Newt understood that you were required by law to ride on every ferris wheel you encountered if you were in love with the person you were with when you encountered it.

It was late afternoon, and the sky was starting to get purple. He was so excited to watch the sun set here, he hardly remembered to cuddle Hermann as they went around on the wheel. Hermann wasn’t making it easy, anyway, stretching and turning to get all possible views.

Afterward, Newt found that they still had another forty-five minutes before the sun would start to properly set; meanwhile, they wandered past a booth where knocking down milk bottles won you stuffed animals. “I’m going to win you one of these,” Newt announced.

“Don’t bother. Those games are all rigged.”

“I know that! But I know _how_ they’re rigged.” Newt handed over a dollar and took his three baseballs. “It’s all in how you throw it. You keep your arm straight, like this—”

Newt threw the ball, and it missed all three bottles entirely.

Fifty-eight dollars later, Newt handed a small blue teddy bear over to Hermann. “How do you like that, huh? Very romantic!”

“It certainly puts the thirty dollars you spent on the ferris wheel into perspective,” Hermann sighed.

Newt led Hermann to a bench on the boardwalk, so they could watch while the sun slowly sank into the west. He contemplated the palm trees rising from atop the cliff, the art deco hotels looming behind them, and the crinkly mountains in the hazy distance, a reminder of how much of California was still wild. “This all makes me want to listen to that Lana Del Rey song,” Newt said aloud.

“Which one?”

“ _Psh_ , any of them, dude. All her songs sound like this looks.”

They lapsed back into silence. Hermann wasn’t big on crowds, but Newt hoped that he would be okay with this waterfront ambience: the steady roar of the waves lapping at the shore and the din of the beachgoers, punctuated at frequent intervals by the cries of seagulls and the distant, delighted shrieks of roller-coaster riders.

This was peak romance, right here, Newt was sure of it, and he saw no reason not to make the most of the situation. Turning his head, he nuzzled Hermann’s ear, peppering it with little pecking kisses, which soon traveled down his jawline, until, having reached Hermann’s mouth, the little pecks and nibbles turned into more serious business.

“Newton, people can see us,” Hermann said between kisses, not quite pulling away but not giving in by any means.

“So?” Newt pulled Hermann closer with his arm, and slid his other hand over Hermann’s knee.

“So, it’s rude to behave like this in public.”

“Come on,” Newt said, in what for him was a whisper. His lips caressed the shell of Hermann’s ear as he breathed, “How many times in your life have you been single, and you were out somewhere, and you had to look at some couple who were disgustingly in love, just feeling each other up and kissing and giggling in front of God and everybody, pretending like it wasn’t annoying and gross?”

Hermann’s mouth twisted up, recalling that loathing he’d felt. “There’s been a few times, yes.”

“Well, now _we’re_ the gross couple in love. You paid your dues being lonely, and now you’ve got a boyfriend who fucks you good and makes you pancakes. Don’t you want to rub it in everyone’s faces just a little bit?”

Hermann admitted with a grumble, “Perhaps a bit, yes.” He looked around, examining the oblivious faces of passersby. “But what if we’re recognized? What will people think of us?”

Rolling his eyes, Newt pulled back and said defensively, “Uh, I guess they’ll think, ‘Hey, there’s Hermann Gottlieb, that guy who was on the cover of _Time_ magazine because he saved the world. Looks like now he has a boyfriend who fucks him good and makes him pancakes. What a lucky son of a bitch.’”

Hermann looked around one more time, like they were about to rob a bank. He turned back and whispered to Newt, “Alright, but just a little bit.”

Newt laughed, pulling Hermann closer and diving in for more kisses. Hermann giggled a little, too, the same way that he did when he felt positively _naughty_ about having an extra sweet. Every once in a while, Newt snuck a glance around, to see if anyone was watching them and being grossed out. To his disappointment, they weren’t, really.

They went on for several minutes, nuzzling each other’s ears and necks, keeping their groping above the waist but far from decorous, until Hermann put his hands on Newt’s shoulders and gently but firmly pushed him away. “Newton, we have to stop.”

“What’s the matter now?”

Hermann hummed softly and vaguely before replying, “I’m getting aroused.”

Newt chuckled. “Okay, yeah, you’re right, we should cool it. Let’s just chill here until the sun sets, and then we’ll go back to the hotel. We can put on some Lana Del Rey. You can fuck me slow and I’ll call you Daddy.”

“My God, _Newton_ ,” Hermann snapped, but he was grinning.

“Sorry, sorry!...But I mean, we will, though, right?”

 

***

 

Newt had been in front of the television for a couple of hours when Hermann wandered in and sat down next to him on the sofa. He was carrying a book, and like Newt, he still wore what he’d slept in: a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. Newt was sufficiently engrossed in the program that he did not react, did not move to cuddle Hermann close. Hermann looked at Newt for a moment, then opened his book and read for several minutes. When a commercial break came on, Hermann scooted just slightly closer to Newt, who did not react. Hermann kept his hands resolutely at his sides, and his hand touched only the book. He read some more, then shifted again, until his thigh was just barely touching Newt's. Only then did Newt mute the television, then turn and say, “Hey, what's going on?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Hermann said wistfully.

“Yeah? What are you doing?”

“Just, ah, reading this book.”

“Uh-huh. You sure you didn't come over here 'cause you want some attention?”

Hermann blushed. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

“I may have been feeling a bit lonely,” Hermann said, clearing his throat. “Even, one could say, neglected...”

“Neglected? That is a tragedy and I won’t stand for it.” Newt reached over and snuck one hand underneath Hermann's shirt, feeling the soft, smooth skin over his ribs. Hermann smiled gawkily and looked away. Newt laughed.

“I can't believe you, dude. We've been together for years and you still can't just straight up say you wanna bang.”

“That's such a rude way of putting it,” Hermann huffed.

“There’s nothing wrong with just saying it, though! Come on, I want to hear you say it...in a _rude_ way.”

“Say what?”

“I want to hear you say, 'Newt, I wanna get up in that ass.'”

“I'll say no such thing!”

“I'm gonna ignore you until you do.” Newt made a big show of taking his hands away, turning away from Hermann, and looking up at the ceiling, as though something fascinating were up there.

“Oh, very well,” Hermann said, then stuttered out: “Newton, I would like to...I want to...get up inside that arse.”

Newt nearly fell off the couch in hysterics. “Oh my God, that was so precious dude,” he yelped as he rolled around, “you don't even know how amazing you are.” Hermann looked on, indignant, as Newt wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “I can't get over you. God, I'm serious.” He leaned over Hermann now, pressing him against the arm of the couch, kissing his mouth, his neck.

“You’ve never changed,” he said, his voice occasionally muffled by the kisses. “You’re still just an awkward dork who has no idea what he does to me. When you want to have sex, you approach me like you’re not sure if I even like you, and every time we do it, you have this look on your face like you can't believe you're getting fucked so good. And after all that, you still walk around in front of everyone else acting like you've never been laid in your life, and it makes me feel so fuckin' _filthy_ , dude.”

Hermann felt like he ought to remove his glasses, if things were going to get hot and heavy. But when he lifted his arm to do so, Newt stopped him. “Wait. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, Hermann. Hermann. I will do anything you want. Anything. If you leave the glasses on while you give me a blowjob. _Any_. _Thing_.”

After a moment's consideration, Hermann decided he did not have an objection to this. “But stand up,” he said, “so I don't have to get down on the floor for it.”

Newt happily complied, standing up and turning around so that, sitting up, Hermann could easily tug Newt’s boxers over his erection and go to work. He went slow, but he was so deliberate, so _thorough_ , and it was delicious to watch. His eyes were closed behind his thick glasses, and he appeared uncharacteristically serene. Newt could barely contain himself just watching it, let alone feeling that satin-smooth mouth, the plush tongue and soft lips working studiously.

Hermann didn't plow through the litany of techniques – he didn't flick at Newt's frenulum with the tip of his tongue, didn't pay any attention at all to his sack. He just drew his lips over Newt's shaft, and sucked gently, and it drove Newt _crazy_. He took as much of it into his mouth as he could, breathing hard through his nose and thereby fogging up his glasses.

At the sight of this, Newt groaned, “Oh God, I love your dorky glasses, and your stupid hair, and your ugly clothes. They make me so hot. It makes me so hard when I see you. I love your big stupid mouth, it feels so good on my dick.” He wanted very badly to grab the back of Hermann’s head and thrust, but he didn’t because that was rude. Instead, he imagined it, and came, loudly and intensely, down the back of Hermann’s throat.

Hermann let Newt’s softening cock slip from his mouth, and Newt hastily tucked it back into his boxers, saying breathlessly, “Okay, I'm a man of my word. What can I do for you now? Name it.”

“Ah, you don't need to do anything,” Hermann said, flushed and unsteady.

“Yes I do.” Newt plopped next to Hermann on the sofa, pulling him close and smoothing his ruffled hair. “I'm serious, come on. What’s something you always wanted to do but you've been too shy to ask?”

Hermann shook his head. “No, Newton, I mean you really don't need to do anything. I, ah, I finished.”

“What?”

“I really liked the things you were saying to me, and I touched myself a little bit, and I finished.”

Newt looked down, and saw the damp spot in Hermann's pajamas. “Ha! That's amazing. I can't believe you did that. That's so awesome.” Newt gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek, then pulled him up off the sofa. “Come on, let's go get in the shower. I'm gonna wash my favorite nerd.”

 

***

 

It was typically Newt and Hermann's policy to cut out of these hoity-toity receptions early. By the time the champagne started pouring, no one was interested in talking to them anymore, anyway, at least not about breach signatures or kaiju taxonomy. Sometimes people wanted to talk business, which was abhorrent to both of them.

Newt insisted on sticking around for this particular reception, though. His excuse was that the venue was just so cool: a concrete- and steel-reinforced plexiglass dome inside the city's Aquarium. Guests milled about and ate their hors d'oeuvres under the indifferent eyes of gliding, undulating lingcod and rockfish. In between worshipful gazing at the sea life all around them, however, Newt was also sneaking looks at the crowd, and couldn't relax until he saw a particular familiar face.

“I'm gonna grab some more grub,” he said, suddenly leaping from his stool at the bar. “You want anything?”

“No, thank you,” Hermann said, and Newt disappeared in the crowd.

Moments later, a smartly-dressed woman approached the bar and sat right where Newt had been sitting.  “Doctor Gottlieb?” she said, only half-questioning. She clearly knew who he was.

Hermann tensed up. Newt had left him alone, and now look where he was. Talking to a stranger. “I'm Doctor Gottlieb, yes.”

The woman held out her hand. “Doctor Elise Waterson. I'm Professor of Applied and Computational Mathematics at the university. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, indeed,” Hermann said, and took her hand with slightly more enthusiasm than he had a moment ago. “I believe I knew your predecessor, Doctor Taff.”

“He spoke very highly of you,” Dr. Waterson said. “He wasn't able to make it tonight. Health reasons. But he was certainly not exaggerating when he told me you were the finest mind he knew in probability theory. Your presentation was fascinating and enlightening.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate that.”

“You're a very compelling speaker,” she went on, and turned more decidedly towards him. One of her knees brushed his own. She stretched out her hand towards him on the bar. “I'd love to talk more. Do you have any plans after the reception?”

This was not going as Hermann had thought it would, at all. “Um, I don't, actually,” he said, “but—”

“I hope you'll forgive my being so forward, but I noticed you don't have a ring on your finger, and I would hate to lose this opportunity to someone else here...”

Hermann shifted in his seat, drawing back from her in the politest way possible as he stammered, “Ah, well, that’s very flattering, but you see...”

Just then, Newt burst from the crowd and stormed towards the two of them. “Excuse me! Excuse me! Is there something I can help you with, ma'am?”

“I don't think so,” Waterson said smoothly. “Doctor Gottlieb and I were getting along just fine.”

“Yeah, okay, well, might I suggest finding your own man to get along with? Because this one's taken. By me, specifically. Yeah, all this,” he gestured to Hermann's body, from head to foot, “all mine. Exclusively. Try not to pass out from sheer envy.”

Hermann blushed hard, and scolded, “ _Newton_.”

Newt snaked one arm around Hermann's waist, grabbing his sleeve with his other hand. “Come on Hermann, we're leaving. Man, I can't leave you alone for one second without a everyone trying to get a piece of you.”

As he steered Hermann towards the door, Newt looked over his shoulder and gave Doctor Waterson a thumbs-up. She cheerily returned the gesture. Ten years ago, when they had both been undergrads, Newton Geiszler had introduced Doctor Waterson to her future wife, and at their wedding reception she had told him that she owed him one for it. That he had chosen to call in his favor in this way had been puzzling to her at first, but after he explained what he was trying to do, she found it sweet.

A car came to take them back to their hotel. On the ride back, Newt went quickly from incensed to amorous, putting his hand on Hermann’s knee, then sliding it up his thigh. “Tonight, I'm gonna do something that'll make you forget all about that grabby Doctor Waterson.”

Hermann had already all but forgotten about Doctor Waterson, but he played along with Newt’s strange little game, saying, in a sing-song way, “Will you, now?”

 

***

 

Utterly uninterested in attending any more snobby receptions, Newt instead accepted the frequent invites they received from undergrads. After their seminars, they would linger for an additional hour or so, signing autographs and accepting adoring praise from the next generation of physicists and biologists. And occasionally, a brave one would sheepishly suggest that Newt and Hermann join them and their friends for a trivia night at a local bar, or would let them know that a Star Trek exhibition was opening at a local museum, and Newt would happily make their day by accepting these invitations. Then word got around, the invitations got bolder, and soon Newt and Hermann were agreeing to join kids for karaoke, board-game nights, laser tag, barbeques, and even one time, a midnight screening of _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_. “These kids think we’re cool!” was Newt’s constant, joyous refrain. Hermann was less enthusiastic about these social engagements, but he indulged Newt, and occasionally even managed to enjoy himself, particularly when he could demonstrate that his skill at trivia or mini-golf was superior to Newt’s.

One night, they were at a pub, Hermann enjoying a beer while listening to an engineering undergrad discuss his ideas about potential improvements to charge intervals on particle dispersal cannons, while Newt sat nearby, engrossed in a game of cards.

Over the undergrad’s shoulder, Hermann saw Arjun Prasad enter the room. His stomach flipped. “Newton,” he snapped, “is this another one of your stunts?”

Newt did not even look up. He was hunched over the cards in his hand, studying them carefully, his gaze only wandering to examine the stone-faced undergrad across the table from him. “No stunts tonight, man.”

“If I find out that—”

“Hermann! Whatever it is, I didn’t do it! I’ve got a hundred bucks riding on this game, okay?”

Doctor Prasad ordered a drink at the bar while Hermann fumed at the sight of him. Years ago, he and Prasad were both working on the Swinnerton-Dyer Conjecture in their spare time. Hermann had found a solution just weeks before Prasad, but then Knifehead had attacked Anchorage, where Hermann was stationed at the time, and in the tumult, Hermann missed his chance and Prasad published first. Hermann had never forgiven him.

Hermann leaned over to tap Newt on the shoulder. “I would really like to leave,” he said in a stage whisper. “Right now.”

“In a minute, just let me finish this.” Newt waved him away and looked his opponent dead in the eye. “I’ll attack with my Siege Rhino and my Mantis Rider.”

Before Hermann could protest any further, Prasad approached Hermann’s table with a big grin on his face. When the undergrad saw who it was, he exclaimed, “Professor Prasad! Doctor Gottlieb and I were just talking about the I-19 Plasmacaster! Would you like to join us?”

Prasad pulled up a chair, asking, “Did you tell him about my proposal? I hope not; he might claim he came up with the idea first!” He laughed derisively.

Hermann felt a sharp homicidal urge. “What proposal?” he asked with suspicion.

The undergrad looked suddenly chastened. “Er…opportunities to license plasma tech to law enforcement?”

“Excuse me?” Hermann growled.

“Crowd control, Doctor Gottlieb, very lucrative,” Prasad said, utterly pleased with himself. “Not cannons on the scale you used to fight kaiju with, of course.”

“I should hope not! You want to give plasma cannons to policemen so they can obliterate students demonstrating against some foreign genocide?”

This outburst got Newt’s attention. Using Jaeger tech for space exploration, or for mining, that was one thing, but distributing it to any sort of military or law enforcement organization – an idea much bandied-about in the past two years – disgusted him just as much as it disgusted Hermann. There was something else going on here, though, that he found morbidly riveting. He said nothing, but stared in horror as Hermann engaged in a brutal argument with Prasad about ethics and civil rights.

“The technology will reach the bad guys no matter how we try to protect it,” Prasad said. “Why not give it to the good guys so they can put up a fight?”

Hermann fired back, lambasting Prasad’s pragmatism, citing example after example where his viewpoint had resulted in mayhem. Soon, Newt wasn’t the only one spectating, but he was the only one who was feeling the particular way he was about the debate. Unable to stand what was going on a moment longer, he grabbed Hermann by the arm mid-sentence, with much less chivalry than he had at the Aquarium, and snarled, “We’re getting out of here, man. Fuck this, and fuck you,” he spat at Prasad.

“What is going on with you?” Hermann yelped as they exited the bar. They walked to the corner, out of sight of those still inside, whose faces were now pressed to the windows. “One minute you can’t be bothered to speak to me, the next you’re frog-marching me out the door in the middle of a conversaton!”

“Conversation, hell!” Newt shouted, but Hermann’s withering look cooled him off considerably. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just got jealous, is all.”

“Oh, jealous? _You_ played a jealousy game on me at the Aquarium, remember? To flatter me and give yourself an excuse to behave possessively in front of others. Now you're angry because I had an argument about politics with some pretentious twat?”

“Uh, _yeah!_ That thing I set up was totally different. That was just someone hitting on you. Watching you yelling at Prasad was basically like watching you engage in foreplay with someone else.”

Hermann’s grip wobbled on his cane. “Are you saying you thought my argument with Prasad about plasma weapons was going to turn _amorous?_ ”

“Well, no, but, you know, screaming at each other about the applications of scientific research…that’s kind of _our_ thing.”

Hermann sighed, “You do know that eventually you and I will make a proper return to academia, where we will be engaged in frequent discussions, and even debates, with our colleagues.”

“No!” This suggestion seemed to strike Newt like an arrow to the heart. “We'll stay here in show business,” he said, “where there's never any drama.”

 

***

 

Though he had promised that he would be quietly and non-disruptively reading articles from the latest _Frontiers In Biology_ before bed, Newt’s giggling was starting to annoy Hermann. “Pardon my being distrustful,” Hermann said sourly, “but it doesn’t sound like you’re reading up on China’s research into mitochondrial control of hematopoietic stem cell balance and hematopoiesis at all.”

“I’m getting there,” Newt said, “but first I have to read the news.”

“‘ScienceLOLs dot com’ is not a news site.”

“Oh my God, you have to see this meme.” Newt showed Hermann his phone, but Hermann refused to look up from his book.

“I’ve seen all the memes, Newton. I look at the internet, too.”

“Oh yeah? Have you seen this meme about _us?_ ”

Now Hermann looked, and what he saw did not please him. Apparently, someone had filmed his and Newt’s seminar at MIT, including the part where a student had brought up Newt’s drift with the kaiju, the wild hypothesis that drove him to pursue it, and the makeshift equipment he cobbled together to facilitate it.

The student had asked what their attitudes were towards the kind of experiments where a scientist must put their own sanity, their well-being, or possibly their entire life on the line, in the name of scientific progress. Hermann had taken the first crack at a response, pointing out that discovering the true nature of the kaiju and of the Breach through their drift was not a product _only_ of Newt’s reckless experimentalism; it was built on a foundation of years of careful calculations and analysis on Hermann’s part. Newt had responded by citing the long history of scientists who had compromised their own safety developing technologies that improved life on Earth. “I mean, look at Elizabeth Fleischman Ascheim,” he said, “or Marie Curie, or Marina Elliott – and I’m sure there are some dude scientists who have risked their lives, too.” This earned him a few chuckles.

But Hermann didn’t like Newt encouraging recklessness, lest it lead to unnecessary calamity, and five minutes later, the two men were arguing ferociously on the dais, having forgotten the original question, the person who had asked it, and the audience in general. At one point, Hermann had thumped his cane on the ground repeatedly for effect, mocking one of Newt’s assertions: “Science! Is! Not! About! Being! ‘Punk! Rock!’” he had shouted.

That had only been two days ago, but already clips from the lecture had been Photoshopped, giffed, re-edited, and then distributed to several humor sites around the web. In the particular gif that Newt had found, when Hermann banged his cane on the floor, it exploded in beams of light, like Gandalf’s staff. Further investigation uncovered hilariously altered pictures of such punk luminaries as Sid Vicious and GG Allin handling test tubes and operating centrifuges, despite a pasted-in Hermann in the background, scolding them in all caps that “Punk! Rock! Is! Not! About! Science!”

Hermann did not appreciate being mocked in the least. He had been so close to nodding off beneath the pages of _Childhood’s End_ , and now he was going to be up all night, fuming about this thing that he could not control.

“Dude,” Newt said, in the most soothing tone in which one could say that word. “We saved the world. With science. _And_ we’re both incredibly charismatic and good-looking. That means we’re celebrity scientists now.”

“No one ever did _that_ to Carl Sagan,” Hermann said, pointing at the image on Newt’s phone.

Newt nearly choked. “Are you kidding me?” He said into the phone, “Carl Sagan meme,” and then showed Hermann fifty images of Sagan, each overlaid with jokes about his sartorial choices, his affinity for cannabis, and the way he said _billions and billions_.

Just then, Newt’s phone rang. “Who is calling at ten o’clock at night?” He looked at the screen. “It’s Diana. Oh shit, somebody died. I don’t want to answer it. I’m gonna answer it. Hello?”

Hermann watched in suspense as Newt received whatever news their manager had for them. His side of the conversation was quite vague, mainly noises of acknowledgement, but he was wide-eyed and practically vibrating, and it was frightening to Hermann to watch. “No, thank you for calling,” Newt said. “I don’t mind at all. Thank you so much. Good night.”

Newt hung up, then looked at Hermann with dramatic solemnity and said, “Guess…who’s…gonna lecture at Caltech and get a private tour of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory!”

Hermann gasped, his eyes like saucers. Scheduling conflicts had meant that a visit to Caltech had been indefinitely postponed on their lecture tour, but Newt explained that Diana, back on the west coast, had just managed to fit in a date the following week, after which time they would be personally shown around the Jet Propulsion Laboratory by its Director, Dr. Erwin Briggs. Hermann had never had the opportunity to visit the JPL, despite the fact that all space exploration projects had been suspended during the Kaiju War so that the Lab could devote its energies to the Jaeger program. It was a lifelong dream of his to go there, especially now that the Mars missions had been resumed and work on the new rover was in full swing.

“She said there's lots of stairs. Is that alright?”

Hermann snorted softly. “For the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, I can handle a few stairs.”

“Now is it okay to be a celebrity scientist?” Newt asked, nudging Hermann, not a little smug about the situation.

“I suppose it's not the worst fate one could suffer.” Hermann said, determined to be at least fifteen percent grouchy at all times. “I still don’t like those memes about us, but this is very good news. Yes, very good news.”

 

***

 

Newt and Hermann were met by an intern on the steps up to the main entrance of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. “Doctor Geiszler, Doctor Gottlieb, it's an honor to meet you, sirs.”

They had still not gotten comfortable with the fawning adoration they received wherever they went, particularly from undergrads, and neither of them wished to grow accustomed to it. Newt took the intern's oustretched hand in one of his own and gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder with the other. “What's up, my man,” he said.

The intern seemed honored by this. “Uh, so, before we have you meet Dr. Briggs, our Community and Media Coordinator would like to speak with you briefly.” The intern led them through the main entrance and reception area into a conference room, where a woman who introduced herself as Dayanara stood up to greet them. Hermann and Newt each shook her hand, more formally this time, while they eyed with suspicion the papers spread out on the table.

“I know, I know, you're like 'What is this?'” Dayanara said in a painfully casual tone. “Well, we have a unique opportunity today, because, by coincidence, there is a film crew here to shoot an episode of _Scientific American Frontiers_. Now, you are not obligated to participate in the filming, but we thought we would offer you the chance to be featured in the episode. Your appearance would no doubt boost their ratings, and it would also help you gentlemen raise your own profiles!”

Newt started to say, “That sounds great,” but Hermann talked over him.

“It doesn't sound like our profile needs raising,” he said curtly, “if we are already so likely to help the show's ratings.”

Dayanara chuckled awkwardly. It was clear to her who was already sold on this synergistic public relations solution, and who would need to be convinced. “The director has assured me that his crew will be very unobtrusive. They won't interrupt for set-ups, or anything like that, they'll just be filming the tour as you go along.”

Newt pawed Hermann's arm. “Come on, Hermann, this is so cool, we're gonna be on _Scientific American Frontiers_! Maybe this'll turn into our thing. We can spend the rest of our lives traveling around the world getting paid to do awesome stuff. Just like Stephen Fry!”

Hermann's mouth twisted in disapproval, but he told Newt, “If it would please you, then I will tolerate it.” To Dayanara, he said, “I suppose we have to sign some release forms?”

“You guessed it.” She stepped aside so they could sign the documents on the table. Herman insisted on reading them in their entirety. Newt just signed, knowing that Hermann would look at them more carefully and catch anything dodgy for him.

The intern came back to fetch them, and brought them back to the reception area, where Dr. Briggs soon joined them. “It is truly an honor,” he said, to both of them, but mainly to Hermann.

“Thank you for taking the time to see us personally,” Hermann said.

“It's my pleasure to show you the fruits of the Jaeger program, Doctor. Your service in the kaiju war yielded advancements and discoveries that we can now apply to our space missions. I hope that you consider that a consolation, for your years of sacrifice.”

“I certainly do,” Hermann replied.

Just then, the film crew arrived: two cameramen, two sound men, and a director. There were introductions all around, and more assurances that the crew would be completely unobtrusive. Hermann doubted this severely, but Newt was excited.

The first stop on their tour was a dark, cavernous control room, with one wall completely covered in screens displaying raw data, 3D diagrams, and live video feeds.

Dr. Briggs explained, “Here we're pulling in telemetry from California, Canberra, and Madrid. There's Madrid on the screen there.”

Newt leaned back, turning toward one of the cameras and confiding to it, “I love rooms like this. It’s just like _WarGames_. I wanna play some Tic-Tac-Toe right now.” Newt continued to talk directly to the camera on occasion; having its attention delighted him, and he regaled it with all the jokes and references that Hermann had never found amusing. As Dr. Briggs explained to Hermann in greater depth about the data being collected, Newt chirped to the camera, “You can't fight in here, this is the War Room!”

After the control center, they moved on to a room full of displays of past spacecraft, including a reproduction of the engraved gold plates and record album that were placed on Voyager. Most of the time, as they wandered, Newt and Hermann held hands, with Newt always on Hermann's left side. Hermann was reluctant to let go of Newt's hand; if presented with the opportunity to touch or hold an object, he would look around for a place to lean his cane first, to free up his right hand, before he would relinquish his left. Only occasionally would Newt wander from his side to mug for the camera.

“So glad they sent rock n' roll to the aliens,” Newt said to the film crew as he peered at the famous Chuck Berry record. “Because I'd hate to meet them before they learned how to be cool.”

Meanwhile, Briggs gushed to Hermann, “The need for durability in the Jaegers has been a boon to the aerospace industry. Thanks to the PPDC's developments in materials, we're testing craft now that will make Voyager look like a Fabergé egg.”

Their tour took them across the campus, to different buildings which housed the various departments. “Over there in the Climate Sciences building, we've made good use of the data you analyzed, Doctor Geiszler, regarding the effects of Kaiju Blue on coastal ecosystems.” He smiled. “Don't want you to feel left out on this tour, hm?”

“Oh, I'm having a great time,” Newt replied. “This is amazing.” He said this while looking at Hermann, which he'd been doing a lot on the tour. Even before they'd arrived, Newt had noticed a dramatic change in Hermann's demeanor. Despite his cane, Hermann strode along at a pace that could be described as “jaunty,” his eyes bright, his conversation lively. He gazed with wonder and admiration at every sight, and when they were outdoors like this, moving between buildings under the California sun, he breathed the fresh air deeply.

“This place really agrees with you,” Newt remarked. “We could move here after our lecture tour is over, and you could take a job here.”

As fond as he was of contradicting everything Newt said and explaining to him in detail why all his ideas were wrong, on this occasion all Hermann could do was murmur, “Perhaps.”

Dr. Briggs led Newt, Hermann, and the camera crew into another building and up two flights of stairs to a glass-enclosed corridor that overlooked a brightly-lit spacecraft assembly facility, which was about the size of a high school gymnasium. It’s décor even resembled a gymnasium, with its emblems of NASA missions hung on the walls, like sports championship banners. “We can't let you down there,” Briggs said with regret, “because it's a clean room, but we will take you into the sandbox. That's coming up.”

“Ah, excuse me, I beg your pardon, I'm sorry,” the television director said, “but, before we move on, can I ask: Doctor Gottlieb, Doctor Geiszler, can you, ah, can you not hold hands?”

Hermann was more baffled by this request than anything else, but Newt bristled instantly. “Is there a problem?” he asked, his sprightly demeanor turning deadly-calm so fast that bystanders were startled.

“Ah, well it's not a problem, _per se_ ,” the director backpedaled. “It's just...that's not what this show is about.”

“ _What_ isn't what your show is about?”

The director stammered, “I mean to say, the people watching _Scientific American Frontiers_ , they’re, ah, are tuning in to see new developments in technology and its applications. They're not interested in...agendas.”

Incensed, Newt stomped over to the director, and with one imperious finger pointed in his face, shouted, “Listen here, you homophobic bitch. My agenda's gonna be to get your ignorant ass fired—”

“Newton!”

Newt turned to the others in the corridor, looking for some support. “I can't believe it's 2026 and this is still a thing that happens! Right?”

Hermann grabbed Newt's arm and jerked him back to stand by his side again. He put his mouth to Newt's ear and whispered, “These television people are already making it more difficult for me to enjoy this day. Please don't ruin it entirely for me.”

Then, addressing the television director with a courteous, even tone, he said, “Your request was not a stipulation in the form that we signed, and we therefore have no obligation to honor it.” And he took Newt's hand again.

A chastened silence followed, at the end of which Newt sniffed, and said under his breath, “Well, I guess that's one way to handle it. Calmly and with civility.”

Hermann turned to Dr. Briggs. “Now, I believe you were going to show us to a...sandbox?”

Briggs was visibly flustered by what had just transpired, but he quickly regained his composure and said, “Yes, indeed, right this way.”

From there on out, the camera crew hung back, and spent less time focused on Newt and Hermann, until finally they bowed out entirely, with director telling Briggs, “We've got what we need, I think, yeah. We're just gonna head back to, uh, shoot some B-roll, and then we'll be out of your hair.”

As the crew slunk away, Hermann remarked, “I don't envy whoever will be tasked with editing that episode.”

Dr. Briggs brought Newt and Hermann back outdoors, to an enormous, bleak, fenced-off patch of dirt. “Here it is: the Mars Yard,” he said, “where we simulate the different types of terrain on the Martian surface. This is Raul Artiga, he’s our Lead Robotics Engineer. Today we’re testing some new software, trying out components and subsystems that will eventually be integrated into the actual craft. Basically doing rehearsals, with a Mars-weight model of the newest rover. Its name is going to be Courage, that’s been decided.”

There was more hand-shaking and embarrassing adoration with Dr. Artiga, after which he explained, “Today’s itinerary is mainly about anticipating ways that the actual rover might run into trouble, and figuring out how to deal with these situations when the actual, autonomous craft is on the Martian surface.”

“You hear that? Getting paid to be a pessimist who always thinks of the worst case scenario,” Newt said, giving Hermann an affectionate swat on the arm. “That’s like your dream job!”

“And years of being with you has certainly honed my ability to keep curious things from getting themselves into trouble,” Hermann added. He asked Dr. Artiga, “What improvements has the JPL made to the rover since the resumption of the program?”

“For one,” Dr. Artiga said proudly, “we’ve improved the proportionate size of the obstacle that it can drive over, from one-point-five to one-point-eight times the wheel diameter,” Dr. Artiga said. He gestured with the remote he was holding. “I can demonstrate. Or, actually, if you’d like to drive, Doctor Gottlieb…?”

Hermann’s face lit up. “I’d love to,” he said, trying to retain his professional demeanor.

Dr. Artiga gave him a quick rundown of the controls, which Hermann found sensible and intuitive. “So, that rock there has a diameter of eighty-five centimeters. Opportunity would have to have avoided it, but Courage can handle it. Go ahead and give it a shot.”

Newt observed Hermann carefully navigating the rover towards the rock. “Very sporty,” he joked. “Bet it handles like a dream.”

“I’m trying to concentrate, darling,” Hermann muttered. But he could hardly muster an annoyed tone, entranced as he was in the activity. His brow furrowed as he worked the controls. The rover model approached the obstacle, and easily obeyed Hermann’s commands to hoist itself over. Even Newt found it a little suspenseful, watching the wheel slowly rotate as it traversed the rock, waiting to see if it would slip. It did not.

“Remarkable,” Hermann said, once the rover had all six wheels on the ground again.

Dr. Briggs stepped up close to Hermann then, explaining to him a little more about the Lab’s operational readiness tests. Dr. Artiga gave them some space, moving over to where Newt was, and asking, “So, how did, uh, how did you two get together?”

“We were both assigned to the Hong Kong Shatterdome when the program was consolidated back in two th—Oh, you mean like _got together_ got together?” Dr. Artiga nodded. “Uh, basically there was a kaiju organ explosion in the lab, and only one decontamination shower, and, well, one thing led to another.” Newt shrugged, as if to say, _Decontamination showers, right?_ _What are you gonna do?_

“That’s hilarious,” Dr. Artiga said.

“…and can I just say,” Dr. Briggs was saying to Hermann, “it was an honor to have you here. I’m glad that we could get this arranged, and I hope to see you again soon.”

“I hope so as well,” Hermann said, extending his hand, which Dr. Briggs shook.

“Now, I must excuse myself for a board meeting, but I’ll be sure to have Robert come around to show you back out.”

“I can do it,” said Dr. Artiga. “I’m on my way out anyway.”

Hermann approached Dr. Artiga to hand him back the remote, thanking him profusely. He and Newt followed Dr. Artiga back through the campus and to the car that was waiting for them.

As soon as the door was closed, Newt gushed, “Oh my God, dude, your hands were shaking when you were holding that remote control. When they let you drive the real Mars rover you will probably explode.” He said the last word slowly for humorous effect, emphasizing every syllable. _Ex-puh-lode-uh._ Hermann, though, was focused on Newt’s use of the word “when.” _When_ he drove the real Mars rover.

“So, aside from the TV people,” Newt said, “was this the best date we’ve ever been on?” He waggled his eyebrows at Hermann. “Be honest.”

Newt was always animated about something, but when things got particularly exciting for him, that’s when he would squeak and babble and utter the oddest non-sequiturs. Such as now. Hermann was a bit hesitant to pursue Newt’s line of conversation, because of the driver listening in. So he responded, with caution, “I don’t consider this to have been a _date_ , precisely…”

Newt leaned back, dejected. “Fine, okay, so then what _was_ the best date?”

Hermann reconsidered his answer when he saw Newt’s disappointment. There was no need for him to be _cruel_. So he conceded, “If it makes you happy, I would definitely say that this was the best ‘date.’” Newt’s expression brightened at this. “What about you, darling?” Hermann asked. “What was your favorite?”

“Oh man, there’s so many. We’ve done so much romantic stuff, huh?” Newt started counting off on his fingers, “We went to a cat cafe, we walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, we went berry-picking—”

“We got lost in the woods and you decided to make the best of it,” Hermann corrected.

“We did a Cornetto Night, we built a pillow fort, we went to the Bug Zoo, we had sex in the Natural History museum...”

“No we did not!”

“Well, we did in a comic I drew,” Newt said defensively. “I’ll show you when we get back to the hotel. But, I think that today was the best.” Newt looked out the window, at Pasadena’s blue sky and oak trees, and thought of Hermann’s face in the sunshine. “Yeah, today was the best day.”      

  

**Author's Note:**

> jensuisdraws did some amazing art of this fic, go take a look at it here: http://jensuisdraws.tumblr.com/post/172042873784


End file.
